


The Oracle of The Old Rotes

by Tinerian



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Breaking the Fourth Wall, But it's at least a contact high, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fuck Or Die, Good silly fun, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Humor, I know that seems depressing but I promise it's not, I'm not sure I'd count this as pure crack, M/M, This was supposed to be a one shot why are there multiple chapters???!!!, ask your crush out or the world ends, both Jason and Tim are awkward idiots, except waaaay more consensual, kinda like, lots of swearing, this is the funniest fing thing I have ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinerian/pseuds/Tinerian
Summary: A grand saga of idiocy, love, and awkwardness. It all begins with this:Tim gets a prophesy from a world where humanity is remembered only by one woman who has seen every meme ever created. He is Suffering.





	1. The Prophesy

As a reward for saving a planet at the ass end of time, each of the (We're Not Teenagers Anymore) Titans was granted a brief visit with the Oracle of The Old Rotes. It was rumored that she was the daughter of the last human to ever set foot on Earth, and to honor her heritage she had downloaded the greatest library Humanity ever created. That apparently had nothing to do with the fact that she could see the future. Most people just chalked that up to old age.

Starfire got an epic poem about healing and reconnecting with a past self in pain. Raven got "Advice." Cyborg got "A bit of closure," and tried to look like he hadn't been crying.

Beast Boy returned to the group looking troubled. "She gave me what she said was 'likely the only way to save the planet', but I think this is just Ecoterrorism for Dummies."

Star Fire smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "I politely request at least nine days advance notice before you become a Supervillain."

"As if! I don't even want to change costumes, let alone change sides." He crossed his arms and grumbled, "Why didn't _I_ get a cool poem?"

Red Robin was honestly more than a little nervous about this. He knew all too well that capes were magnets for awful prophesy clusterfucks. But the others didn't seem to have gotten anything too bad. Well, except for Beast Boy. Still, maybe it would be just some solid advice. Heck she might not even be able to see the future. Wouldn't be the first time a charlatan or madwoman had headed a religion.

"Wish me luck team," Tim threw a small salute as he walked towards the positively spartan tent the Oracle lived in.

Cyborg called back, "Good luck man. We can probably take down BB by himself, but the two of you together would be unstoppable." 

"I'm not gonna be a supervillain!"

"Ah, Gar, we're just teasing," Cyborg pulled Beast Boy in for a nuggy and Robin laughed quietly to himself.

Stepping into the tent was like walking into a wall of scented fog. Robin coughed a bit and was very grateful that his eye lenses were keeping the smoke out. A voice, reminiscent of a thousand chain smokers all rasping in unison, called to him from the back of the tent.

"hehehehehheheh, I can feel your dread child. The only mercy I can offer is to drop the other shoe. Got a world saving prophesy here for you." As his vision cleared, he was struck, as though by a 2x4, with just how ugly this old crone was. Normally, the word crooked implies that at least some of what is being described is in its proper order. However, in some sort of anti-miracle, every single facet of this woman's body seemed to be crooked all at once. 

Robin sighed and tried not to wonder whether her left eye was too big, or her right was too small, "Ah well, let's get it over with then."

"I love it when I get a veteran. Veterans know not to look too hard at the logistics of prophesies that have already passed. This one is fairly simple, so you're at a disadvantage. A plan junky like you is bound to overthink it and blow up the planet."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now here's your prophesy." She handed him a scroll both ornate and crumbling. It had these words printed on it in vaporwave format:

It is not enough to simply Live Fast. One must also pursue the Ass they wish to Eat.

Robin looked at it, started to say something, stopped. Raised an indignant finger and opened his mouth only to think better of it. The wizened sack of poorly healed bones seemed only amused by his torment. After a moment his shoulders slumped and he said softly, but with passion, "Why did it have to be memes?"

"HAH! As though there could be a better legacy than the petty and trivial joys of the plebs." The Oracle paused to take in a weirdly long, wheezing breath of incense, "That kind of thinking is why we all died."

Tim gave her a concerned look, "Are you…? Ah, never mind." He shook his head, "I know you said not to overthink this, but how exactly is 'pursuing ass' going to save the world?"

"A bunch of Butterfly effect bullshit to be honest. You probably won't even be aware of most of it, but going after that crush of yours will save both Beyoncé and the planet she deigns to live on at least 7 times over."

Robin felt his soul being slowly ground into powder, "Is there any time crunch on this? By the next solstice kind of thing?"

He began to realize how much her skin reminded him of poorly made leather. She scratched at her chin as though stroking an incorporeal beard while deep in thought, "As long as you make an honest effort to woo and or seduce him within the first week of your return and keep trying until either outright rejection or acceptance, you should be fine. Now scram!" 

Red Robin's teammates saw him return a broken man, cut down in his prime. "I wanna trade with Beast Boy."


	2. Who the crush?? Jason the crush. Why the crush?? Tea man too cute to rob.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold: the Ass one wishes to Eat!

Tim habitually kept track of everyone in his chosen family, and everyone who had ever hurt anyone in his chosen family. Since Jason Todd (aka Red Hood aka He of the Glorious Thighs) counted as both those things, Red Robin already had a pretty good idea of what he was doing when he got back to the present. 

Jason was in need of The Galactian Elephant: an extremely expensive steampunk thingy, valued at around 50 million dollars, sold in only one small store on the edge of Gotham. In a rare turn of events this little shop was completely legal and free from sketchy characters! In fact, the shop owner was a sweet old grandpa who spent most of his time in a rocking chair at the back of the store knitting sweaters for his granddaughter's pet snake.

There was no way Red Hood had that kind of money right now, and from the sound of things there wasn't much time for a fundraising campaign. The only way he was getting that artifact was theft.

Tim watched the street cam footage he had copied and then wiped from the city's archives. It showed Red Hood as he looked up at the barely functioning camera. Tim had done a few minimal repairs after the last time Jason had broken it. He seemed to conclude that it was still unable to record, and began pacing around the little alley way. Jason was gesturing in tight, agitated movements, and Tim smiled as he realized that Jay was trying to psych himself up to commit the robbery. 

After a few minutes, he seemed resolved to go through with it. He straightened and slid into a subtle, yet powerful, posture that oozed deadly, suave confidence. Tim blushed a little and sighed as Jason ran his hands down the sides of his body and thick legs, caressing over holsters and concealed knifes. In reality this move was an efficient last-minute weapons check. In Tim's dreams it was the sexy prelude to every lap dance.

He lost visual of Hood for a few seconds as he exited the alley and headed for the shop. Tim had, of course, bugged the place about a week prior to this, and so he switched over to his personal surveillance equipment. This granted him poor quality audio as well as a good view of the interior.

Red Hood opened the door with the sound of heavy, steel toed boots and jingling welcome bells. He started his speech in a hard tone, emphasized by voice modifiers designed to terrify even the most hardened criminal, "Mr. Scholten I'm here… to ask about that tea set you found last week. The one with the cats." By about the fifth word Jason's confidence balloon had entirely deflated. He sounded positively _meek_ , an impressive accomplishment when one considers the outfit and general weaponry.

Mr. Scholten's smiling face seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong, "Oh good! I've said it before and I'll say it again, tea is the soul of love! The older the tea set, the more love it has gathered, and if you are kind to it, it shall give that love back through the tea it holds. Wait just one moment while I fetch it for you."

"Thank you, sir." His helmet shifted to stare forlornly at the Galactian Elephant in all its 10 foot, four-ton, clockwork glory at the other end of the shop.

Mr. Scholten's voice receded as he ventured into the forest of charming, ancient knick knacks, "Oh, it's no problem, this is my job after all." A small tinkling sound as he slid a box off a high shelf, tucked a piece of bright fabric under his arm, and walked back towards Jason, "What you can thank me for is the sweater!"

Jason turned back to him, confused, "I, uh, the sweater?"

"Yessir! When you first came into this shop, I looked at you and I said to myself, 'Herb, that right there is a lonely young man who knows the cold of winter like you do.' I don't know why you keep coming back to this little place, but I'm always glad to see you, so I thought I'd make sure you left here today with a bit of warmth." He held out a neatly folded sweater. It was mostly a sparkly grey colour, with a red smiling bat on the chest. A happy yarn version of Jason's personal symbol.

Jason took the sweater from him almost reverently, " _Thank you._ Look, if there's anything I can do for you let me know."

"Heh heh, it's no problem at all. I can't say I need much at the moment, although if you can find me a buyer for the old clockwork elephant, I'd appreciate it. That thing has been in my family for twenty generations, and we've been charged to sell it for not a penny less than fifty million, which is a real shame because no one wants to buy it for that price. Heck, no one wants to buy it period! Too damn big and noisy to be good for anything."

Tim thought he could almost hear Jason's ear splitting internal screams as he said, "If I find anyone, I'll send them your way."

After that there was some awkward small talk from Jason, replied to with genuine enthusiasm by Mr. Scholten. In the end Jason left the store with forty less dollars in his bank account, a very nice kitten themed tea set, the sweater, and a solemn promise to come by and have tea sometime.

Back in the alley way, with only the deaf street camera as witness, Red Hood very gently placed the bag with the tea set and sweater near his bike. He then proceeded to throw a fit. Tim laughed his ass off as he imagined the cursing that must have accompanied the shaken fists, kicked crates, and final punch to the camera that cut the video feed.

Thus, ended Red Hood's 15th _dastardly_ attempt to rob Herbert Scholten's Antiques Boutique.

Once he had stopped laughing, Tim realized what good fortune Jason's predicament was for him. This was the perfect opportunity: a beautiful, yet practical, gift that needed to be delivered in person. Tim valiantly resisted the urge to steeple his fingers and dim the lights as he began to formulate the perfect plan. Based on previous patterns, he estimated that he had at least two days before Jason tried again. He checked his various bank accounts. The $50 million was well within budget. 

All he had to do was not fuck up when it came down to the conversation.

`````````````

The Titans crowded around their brave leader. He had just come back from a solo mission to save the world via asking his crush out, and they were all eager to learn of its success, or, as the look on his face suggested, likely its failure. 

Starfire was the first to speak, "So? How'd it go?!"

Tim covered his masked face with his hands and mumbled, "I fucked up the conversation so, _incomprehensibly_ bad. Like, I don't think I can describe just how badly this went without a flashback…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next episode: The Flashback! 
> 
> I am apparently incapable of writing any story without conceptualizing a whole fuckin' novel around it lol. So, I hope y'all enjoy this. 
> 
> Oh I also have at least 3 other well thought out jay/tim stories in the works, and I am still working on Falling Into the Sky, and I have a non-fiction project to outline a new form of government, and I want to write a long piece on what honour means to me.... 
> 
> OH YEAH, and I'm in college -_-
> 
> Could someone please throw me down a wifi connected well so I can just write forever???


	3. O' Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, I, the writer, took pity upon him and lay down the aforementioned flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: a vastly overextended analogy!  
> AND an exceptionally minor OC villain!
> 
> (Tim's thoughts are in itallics with *stars* around them)

Tim was a quite kid back in the day, had some big issues with social anxiety. Every once in a while, a conversation or a crowd would become just too much. Batman quickly learned that an overwhelmed Tim would panic and go completely nonverbal. 

It was a bit humiliating to admit, but the few occasions that were caught on camera honestly did more to maintain his secret identity than many of their deliberate cover ups. People just couldn't believe that a kid who broke down from a conversation with strangers could be out there fist-fighting criminals.

Tim had gone through years of training, meditation, and breathing techniques. He considered mastering his fear of social situations to be one of the most fulfilling parts of his path to becoming Robin. Not least because it was one of the only parts that had made his life _less_ stressful. Things would never be perfect, there would always be bad days, but Tim could proudly say he hadn't so much as stuttered during a conversation in years.

Ah. But if only omelets did not require the shattering of those chicken menstrual-byproducts that we call eggs.

```````````````````````````````

At first, he had entertained the idea of surprising Jason with the Elephant and going from there, but packing in too many surprises would almost certainly put him on edge and ensure rejection. Tim wasn't sure the term "in love" honestly applied here, but he absolutely did care for Jason. The last thing he wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by needlessly keeping secrets.

So, he sat down to dial Red Hood's number like the texting adverse freak he was.

On the second ring, a gravelly synthesized voice picked up, "Ah birdy number three! I was just going to call you. Heard you went out of your way to buy a certain product I've had my eye on."

"Well, you heard right-and don't worry, I'm not planning on fighting you over it. Call it a gift."

"That… is suspiciously generous of you Mr. R. Robin. What's the catch?"

"There's no catch, scouts honor-" Jason scoffed at the notion of Tim in the boy scouts, and Tim smiled as he continued, "I'm pretty sure I know what you need it for, and that aligns perfectly with my own plans of not getting swallowed by the Sun. I also need to talk with you in person, nothing to do with the oil incident, just shouldn't be said from a distance."

Oil incident had long been a Robins-only code phrase for all super-hero related business, especially when it involved Batman. It started after a particularly pernicious oil themed villain had plagued Gotham for months. The constant slickness of every surface helped produce many of the least dignified images of Batman ever put into print. Bruce's unwillingness to discuss those events, and its obscure, yet relevant, context made for the perfect code phrase.

Jason, having been one of the chief proponents of its use, recognized it immediately, and some of the suspicion left his voice, "Alright, fair enough. You rich boys need something to spend all that money on anyways. Meet you tomorrow at midnight in the old cannery on 6th and main?"

"Works for me. Oh, and is it possible to meet in plain clothes? Red Robin needs to lay low for a little while, let crime think he's still in Titans-Town." That technically wasn't a lie, but the real reason was that there are few things more akward than asking someone if they want to fuck while in a spandex bird costume.

"Wow, I think you just made the name of the world's newest, shittiest theme park. I don't really give a fuck what we wear, as long as the Elephant's there. See you then."

The phone beeped as it recognized the hang up.

* _Phase 1 successful. Initiating Phase 2._ * 

```````````````````````````````

A day later, Tim found himself wearing some respectable street clothes over armor and standing in a large vacant warehouse that bordered his and Red Hood's territory. He paced his little corner of the room, acclimated to the subtle smell of his special-occasions cologne, and slowly overthought himself into oblivion.

Tim habitually visualized his anxiety as a wind-up toy with two keys. He stood on one end constantly working to unwinding it, while life stood opposite him and mercilessly cranked it in the other direction. 

He mentally restrained himself from marching off to find a time machine he could use to kick his past self's ass. Arriving a full two hours early had seemed like a good idea at the time. He had thought that being able to scope out the warehouse at his leisure would help him relax. At first, this had worked wonderfully! However, that changed after it only took him about 45 minutes to double-search it top to bottom. Now, the extra idle time in which to imagine catastrophes just gave life a lot more leverage to turn on his anxiety. 

Tim silently ran through breathing exercises yet again. * _Alright Red Robin, breath in for four, out for eight. That's it, you've got this. All we gotta do, is tell him he's hot. Turn the key, relax the shoulders, turn the key, relax the neck…_ *

He was knocked out of his thoughts by the warehouse door rattling open, a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule. As Jason sauntered in, Tim noted that apparently, he took 'plain clothes' to mean 'my full Red Hood armor just with the jacket zipped up and the helmet off'. A twinge of annoyance ran through him, but he figured he had to ignore that lest his own, only slightly less visible, body armor label him a hypocrite.

"Jeez birdy, hope you got some worms for all that being early shit! I saw you waitin' like an hour ago and I woulda stepped in, but I had to wait for these creeps," he gestured at the henchmen filling in, "to get the forklift."

Tim rolled his eyes, "What can I say, the dust just makes this place so homey."

The next half hour or so was spent levering the Galactian Elephant onto the forklift that Red Hood's part time henchmen had brought. There wasn't honestly much Tim could do to help with that. Too many cooks in the kitchen spoils the broth, and too many construction workers around the forklift causes broken feet.

The noise and the shouts helped to put an already antsy Tim further on edge. It really didn't help that Jason had decided to use the crate next to him as a convenient surface to do the casual bad boy lean on. Tim spent the entire Elephant transportation process trying to figure out if he should try for small talk, or if that would just make things awkward.

Eventually they were finished and Jason gave them orders for shipping and handling the inert mechanical beast to its proper destination. Tim's heart jumped as Life gave his anxiety a particularly vicious crank, and his body geared up for the ensuing conversation. On the other end of the visualization, Tim franticly turned his little key.

When they were finally alone, Jason gave him his full attention, "Alright, spill it Timbo. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Tim's gaze fluttered over the lovely jawline before him and he began his explanation, "Okay, so, there's this meme, I mean wait, no, this Prophesy. Which was given to me by a meme obsessed old lady in the form of a vaporwave meme." 

Jason raised a somewhat judgmental eyebrow, causing Tim to mentally fumble the unwinding key and change conversational tactics, "Well, that part's not really important, and kinda long and confusing, but anyways I just needed to tell you that you're, uh, fine!"

Tim had planned to say 'hot' or perhaps 'sexy' instead of fine, but aborted mission at the last second as he realized how _weird_ it would be to just… say that. But fine turned out to be utter nonsense, and obviously required clarification. "I don't mean like, like ya'know, 'how are you doing today?' fine. I mean more like fine like the damn girls in the song fine." 

At least, Tim thought he kinda remembered a song that said 'damn girl you fine'.

* _Oh shit, is that not a thing? Did I just make up a random music video in my head and reference it??_ *

The judgement was quickly leaking out of Jason's eyebrows, and confusion seeped in to replace it. "Uuhhh…"

"No, like-" 

* _Fuck. Can't say like again I sound like a valley girl_ *

"I mean,"

* _shit I said that way too often too!_ *

"Please understand that I think your torso is just fine!"

* _still too vague_ *

"Great, even! I love it when you have torso, um… a torso."

At this point, Tim's anxiety visualization showed the unwinding key snapping off in his hand. The dark shadow of Life loomed over him. The Hordes of All That Live cackled with malevolence, and began to spin it's key with unhindered ferocity.

Back outside the metaphor, a long moment passed as Jason just looked around in bewilderment, trying to find any semblance of context for what he figured must have been some on the fly code phrase, before giving up and quietly asking, "…the fuck?"

In a final, _desperate_ attempt to communicate, Tim gestured wildly at Jason's lower half, honked out the word, "LEGS!" and promptly became as silent and red as a tomato.

Jason struggled for a tense few seconds to figure out what facial expression could be even a _remotely_ appropriate response to this. Tim silently braced for a punch to the face until Jason finally seemed to settle on horrified concern. 

"Oh fuck. Tim you're having a stroke, aren't you!? Okay, okay, I'm goin' to get you to a hospital!"

* _I…huh?!_ * 

Tim tried to speak, choked up, then signed quickly to Jason in American Sign Language as best he could while recovering from emotional whiplash, "No, it's okay! Not a stroke! I'm just anxious, this happens, you don't need to take me to a hospital!"

In doing this, Timothy Drake-Wayne overlooked two important facts:

1) Jason had learned sign language in the League of Assassins, and therefore only knew most of the Arab sign language family, and Russian Sign language. American sign language was simply gobbled-gook as far as Jason was concerned.

2) The rush of adrenaline that came courtesy of this particular anxiety attack was making him shake like a caffeinated hummingbird. (Maybe don't look that particular image up, it's honestly tragic)

Dr. Todd took in all of these symptoms and concluded a grave prognosis which aligned perfectly with his earlier diagnosis.

"Oh, fuck dude, you can't even sign right!" Jason began leading off a mortified Tim by the arm, "I am gonna find what or whom-the-fuck-ever did this and put them in the fucking morgue, and hopefully you won't even remember I said that and I can avoid another Talk, but if you do remember me saying this," He momentarily broke stride to wheel around and point at Tim's face, "Tell Bats he can piss himself in his own basement. I don't give a fuck."

Jason then resumed his forced march out of the abandoned cannery and towards the nearest unattended vehicle.

Upon reaching a glittery, hot pink and blue Volkswagen beetle, Jason pulled something out of a pocket and began jimmying open the door. At this point Tim fully realized that Jason was about to abduct him in the world's flashiest stolen vehicle. (Although to his credit Jason was doing so with only the best of intentions). As the door was yanked open Tim frantically grabbed at Jason's nearest arm and shook his head, hoping beyond hope that Jason would realize his mistake and change course.

He succeeded in getting Jason's attention, but with disappointing results, "Birdy, I _really_ don't think you should be shaking your head like that. I know this can't be a calm thing for you, but hey! I'm an _expert_ at sidestepping death from head trauma, so you'll be fine!" Jason dragged out the I in fine in a way that suggested he was already planning Tim's funeral. Tim's face was painted with horror and indignation.

"Don't give me that look Timbo! Here, you can, uh, hold my elbow. I know it's not the traditional form of comfort, but I really need this hand to save your ass, so you're just gonna hafta settle for what you can get."

Tim began to grimly weigh his remaining options.

Option 1: fight. He figured he'd last about 2 minutes in his current state against Jason, who was much better armored, probably had a gun, and was a lot less freaked out. Then he would either curb stomp Tim immediately OR deliver him to a hospital hog tied, find out he wasn't actually having a stroke, and throw him out the nearest window. Bad plan.

Option 2: flee. It seemed that Jason didn't really consider Tim to be a flight risk yet. That would give him a head start of at least two or three seconds. Tim was much more agile than Jason in his combat armor (or out of it), but he didn't know the back alleys of this part of town like Jason did, and he also had shorter legs. He estimated that he'd manage a couple blocks before getting tackled or attracting the attention of another batclan member. The ensuing confusion and/or fight really wasn't worth it. 

Option 3: just go with it. In all honesty this was a little risky. Besides the cripplingly awkward car ride that was sure to follow, and the inevitable crisis of what the fuck he was going to tell Jason once he could talk; there was a very real possibility that someone would recognize him as Timothy Drake-Wayne. Explaining to the press why he was out cavorting with the infamous Red Hood would almost be worse than explaining why he had apparently gone nuts to the Red Hood himself. 

Tim also had to contend with the fact that Beyoncé (and the Earth) were counting on him making it all the way to an actual confession. If Jason just refused to talk to him because of a misunderstanding there could be dire consequences. All things considered, Option 3 seemed like his best bet for ever getting a second chance at seduction. 

* _Why is it always the **stupidest** plans that end up making the most sense?!_* 

Tim resigned himself to the fact that he was going to aid and abet in the theft of this beautiful custom bug, and adjusted his grip on Jason's arm to something a bit cuddlier. If he had to go through this whole debacle, he figured he should at least get to make himself comfortable.

The Bug's engine roared to life and they both clambered inside. Jason held out his right hand towards Tim, who sheepishly took it. Jason then glanced at the dashboard and said, "Holy fuck! Who puts nitro in a VW Bug?! Whatever. Good news for us!"

After about ten seconds of experiencing Jason's unholy, break-neck, one-handed driving skills, Tim was decidedly of the opinion that nitro was _NOT_ good news for them. As Jason barreled down streets that should not have been associated with barrels under any circumstances, a shitty, changed-lyrics cover of Mister Brightside blared over the speakers:

~~"It was only a scene; how did it end up like this?  
It was only a scene,  
It was _only_ a scene!  
I'm staying up late  
And procrastinating  
And my stomach is sick  
And it's all in my head  
But  
There's so much plot now  
Like 5,000 words now  
Threeeee chap-ters deeeeeeep  
Plot bunny's taken control  
I'm Mixter Fic-Write!"~~

Tim briefly wondered if he was actually having a stroke after all, but Jason's muttered, "The fuck even is this song??" assuaged that fear. He could tell that his brain had unhelpfully latched onto this sonic monstrosity with glee, and would be playing it on loop for approximately the next three years.

This whole strange line of events was turning out to be a surreal clusterfuck of the highest degree. Tim consoled himself with the fact that he at least got to hold Jason's hand, and without any genuine physical injuries to boot! He briefly entertained the idea of lifting up their hands and tenderly kissing Jason's knuckles, but figured that doing so would cause both their deaths via ultra-highspeed car crash.

Tim braced himself on the dashboard as Jason brought their deranged vehicle to a screeching halt in a semi-abandoned parking lot behind the Gargoyle's Love Downtown Hospital. Jason piled out of the car with action film star grace and Tim somehow managed not to faceplant in the weed infested gravel. He silently praised years of muscle memory for supporting him at this tragic moment in his life.

Having correctly assumed that if left to his own devices, Tim would have just sat down on the ground and curled up, Jason hooked Tim's arm in his, as though they were late for a high school prom. 

"Alright I'm taking you in through the back entrance, I know some people here, they'll take good care of you." Tim vaguely noted that sounded suspiciously like what a Mobster would tell someone right before the sledgehammer came for their knees, but he was far too tired at this point to care.

Tim tuned out the world as he was sat down on a bed. He only half registered the fact that Jason had just listed a "severe caffeine addiction" as the drugs he might be on. After a moment or two a nurse with a dyed green undercut kneeled beside him and said, "Bad panic attack huh?"

A wave of relief washed over him and he nodded thankfully to his new confidant.

"Alright, I'll get you moved to somewhere quiet where you can stay till you feel good enough to blow this popsicle stand. I can't imagine the ER ambiance is helping much." As if on que, a child wailed in the distance, "Want me to tell your friend to give you some space?"

Tim hesitated for a moment and then nodded yes.

"Gotcha, be back in a moment."

His green haired hero spoke for a moment with Jason. He looked very reluctant to leave but then caught sight of something down the hall, "Fuck, Jabber's here!" He craned his head over the nurse's shoulder and sternly told Tim, "Don't you fucking die on me bird brains! I'll come back and kick your ass if you do!" Then he stormed off in the opposite direction of whatever Jabber was.

A short walk down some twisting corridors followed. Then, finally, at 02:57, Tim collapsed face first onto a hospital pillow and eased himself down from the adrenaline high he'd been skydiving in for the past three hours. Life had tired of tormenting him for the moment, so he was damn well going to take that opportunity to fix his key and unwind.

The mission requiring the Elephant would keep Jason off world for at least a week, so he had plenty of time to rest, regroup with the Titans, and plan his next assault on Jason's pants.

```````````````````````````````

Meanwhile, in an alley near 6th and Main streets:

The Vengeful Road Flamingo – half human, half flamingo, all street racing champion – was on her way to the annual "should Lex use his entire kryptonite laced nuclear arsenal on the Justice League?" meeting. As usual, she was running late, and couldn't wait to feel the raw speed of a nitro boost accelerating her custom VW Bug's super light chassis. The Flash had pissed her off for the last time, and she fully intended to vote yes! 

When she caught sight of the empty spot where her beautiful speed demon baby should have been, she clutched at her feathers and wailed.

After the customary debate between those villains who wanted to rule the world and those who wanted to destroy it; the vote ended 8 in favor, 8 against, and 1 absent. Two Face was called to break the tie. 

Once again, President Luther put away his launch key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past several days have been absolutely brutal. This is my way of having some fun and focusing on the happy aspects of life 😊 as such, it's not as meticulously edited as my other writings. I like to think it is meticulously funny though lol 😊
> 
> I was greatly inspired by a Tweet written by Sean Leahy which I shall transcribe bellow:
> 
> ["The Bond's name. James name."  
> Pleased to… what?  
> "Bond Name's the james"  
> Are you alright?  
> "Bames Nond's having a stronk call a Bondulance"]


End file.
